


After Everything

by assassin_inthe_scoutregiment



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types, Assassin's Creed Rogue
Genre: Assassins Creed Rogue, F/M, Fanfic, Game Spoilers, shay x ofc
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-09-19
Packaged: 2019-06-11 17:53:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15321012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/assassin_inthe_scoutregiment/pseuds/assassin_inthe_scoutregiment
Summary: Moira Cormac and her husband Shay Patrick Cormac are both assassins for the American Brotherhood until events occur, forcing them both to abandon the assassins, and join the Templar Order.





	1. Leaving for Lisbon

**Author's Note:**

> This is my time writing Shay, so please forgive for anything out of character. The story begins right before Lisbon in the Rogue storyline. Spoilers are obviously in store for those who haven't played the game yet. Feel free to leave comments or message me for any criticism, happy thoughts, or whatever. I'm marking the book as a whole as mature, but will leave a little note at the beginning of each chapter for any NSFW activities. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy my first Shay Patrick Cormac fic.
> 
> This chapter does contain a bit of NSFW activities.

“Shay.” She breathed out unevenly, panting his name into the pillowcase bunched beneath her arms. The rocking of the Morrigan under their bodies paired with Shay’s constant teasing and movement was bringing her close to yet another release. His name fell from her lips as a prayer, begging him to finally break the dam of nerves teetering on the edge, begging him to make that final move bringing her breathless into his arms again. 

“Moira,” he practically sang back to her, moaning her name, and leaving light scratches down her back. Her name on his lips finally brought her the release she had been seeking. Shay moaned again, this time pulling out just barely before dripping vines of his release onto the sheets beneath them. Moira rolled into his embrace, giggling lightly as she watched Shay brush back his hair behind his ear in an attempt to tame the locks so clearly tangled from hours of their favorite, shared activity. 

Her emerald irises gazed into his ashen ones. “Please be safe, Shay. I can’t lose you.” She whispered nervously, laying her head against his chest, searching for the ever-present thumping of Shay’s heart. Shay squeezed her tighter to his chest, leaving a trail of kisses through her hair. 

“You know I will, lass. I couldn’t imagine not returning to you, to this.” He continued dropping light kisses anywhere his lips landed. She leaned up, breaking his concentration, and pulled Shay into a kiss. 

They laid like this for some time, entwined in the others’ arms leaving kisses everywhere within reach. Shay lazily flicked her air-cooled nipples, and Moira would occasionally stroke his half-hardened length in return. These nights, the ones before either Shay or Moira left on a mission, left Shay playful, sensual, and longing for more time together. These nights were spent with as much contact between them as possible, rocking together with the motion of waves beneath them. 

This night, in particular, brought the both of them closer together than nights before. Shay was leaving for Lisbon the next morning, and Achilles refused to let Moira accompany him, even insisting that Liam be the one to serve as Shay’s second in command instead. Achilles wouldn’t elaborate on the mission, but he insisted it be done to benefit the Brotherhood, and that Liam knew everything pertinent, and would tell Shay once in Lisbon. Moira figured Achilles had an alternative reason for the secrecy, but she wouldn’t question their leader. Maybe it was the secrecy, or the simple fact that Shay would be gone for nearly a year, or maybe just Achilles refusing to allow Moira to accompany her husband, but something about the mission didn’t sit well with her. These thoughts roamed through her mind once again as Moira slipped her hand beneath the blankets and started lightly stroking Shay again. He stopped her, somehow reading Moira’s thoughts.

“Just come with us anyway, lass. There’s not much Achilles can do if you stay on the ship, and leave with us without telling him. We’d be halfway to Lisbon before the old Aquilla could even have the Morrigan in her sights.” Shay peppered a trail of kisses stringing from her chin, along h her jaw, and ending right below her ear. She considered his offer seriously for a moment. The thought of stowing away had crossed her mind, but Moira was loyal almost to a fault. If her mentor ordered her to stay behind, she would. 

“I’d love nothing more than to spend every night of this mission wrapped in your arms, rocking to sleep on the waves each night, but Achilles says he needs me here for training. With Liam gone, I’ll be taking on his students. Leaving Achilles without an instructor wouldn’t be fair, especially after he’s taken us in and taught us everything we know.” His eyes traced her face, trying to memorize every line, wrinkle, and imperfection upon her skin as the sun had finally broken through the curtains keeping the captain’s cabin in the dark. 

“My crew should be ready to sail. They were told to be ready at first light,” He paused for a moment, sliding his thumb across the bottom of her jaw. “You still have a chance to change your mind, lass.” His voice wavered slightly. Shay didn’t like leaving Moira behind any more than she liked being left behind. 

“I-I best not, Shay. Achilles would have our heads for disobeying him.” Shay nodded, pressing another kiss to her temple, taking in the smell of her one last time before the long journey ahead. Moira held Shay’s scruf-covered chin in her hands, bringing his lips to hers for a final kiss as Liam pecked on the door. Shay quickly pulled a quilt over them, instructing Liam to enter. 

“Shay, Moira, as much as I hate to do this, I have to interrupt. Achilles is waiting on deck to issue final orders before we leave.” His cheeks went red briefly before Liam contained the hint of embarrassment as Shay uncovered himself and set to dressing. “I’ll-uh- I’ll let you two get dressed.” Liam popped back out of the cabin, leaving Moira alone with her husband once again. 

“Well, lass, we’d better get up top.” Shay whispered while handing Moira her trousers and corset. She rarely wore dresses, opting for clothing much easier to work with when training. 

They greeted Achilles a few minutes later, both shuddering slightly at the winter breeze crossing their flushed skin. The mentor eyed both of them, observing their movements as Shay took Moira in for one, final kiss before departing for the next year. His cough broke the two apart. 

“Liam, Shay, report back to me as often as possible. I’m expecting you back before the year’s out. If anything delays your return, write to either myself or Adewale in the West Indies. He can relay information back to me if needed. He has also agreed to provide assistance, should you need it.” Achilles spoke with an authoritative tone. When he made a demand, those beneath him scrambled to make the demand come to life. Shay and Liam were no exception. 

“Aye, mentor.” Shay responded, squeezing Moira’s hand. Shay stepped up to the wheel, releasing his hold on Moira. She followed behind, insisting on one last kiss between them. 

“I love you more than the moon loves the stars.” She whispered as Shay held her chin softly. He pulled her lips to his, feeling their swollen heat against his own. 

“I love you more than the fish love the sea.” He left a small peck on her nose. 

“Moira, you are needed back on the training grounds.” Achilles interrupted. Shay squeezed her hand once again. “Now.” the mentor insisted. Moira gave Shay a sad smile. 

“Yes, mentor.” She replied, the same sad tone lacing her voice. Moira stepped onto the dock, waving to her husband as she walked back to the training ground close to the main house. Her heart laid heavy, as if to tell her she had made the wrong decision by staying at the homestead.


	2. Mentha pelugium

Nearly four months had passed since Shay left for Lisbon, and little word had been received from him or Liam. At least, no word had been passed along to Moira despite her questioning Achilles and Hope each week when they made the trip into the post office. Moira was beginning to believe something terrible had happened, but chose to keep a positive frame of mind. No news was good news, correct? 

“Moira?” Hope’s voice called out to the dark haired woman carrying a bucket full of horse feed across the stables. She stopped at each stall, doling out equal amounts to each animal, then tossed two flicks of hay into the stall before filling another bucket with water and bringing water to the animals. “Moira Cormac, put that bucket down! You’re in no condition to be lugging around such weight!” Hope began to run atop the cobblestones, instructing two of the newest recruits to take over her chores, lest Moira injure herself completing an entirely mundane task. Moira couldn’t help but roll her eyes once turned away from Hope. 

In the four months Shay had been gone much had happened on the homestead. Achilles had lost his family, and all but a handful of his assassins to illness as the transition from winter to spring had been particularly brutal. Moira had been one of the lucky ones, scraping by the entire season without falling ill, and even discovering something amazing along the way. While Shay had sent no news, Moira had received a gift from him nonetheless. Since this discovery, Hope hadn’t allowed Moira to do anything alone. 

“It’s just a feed bucket, Hope. I’ll be alright. Besides, being cooped up in the manor is driving me up a wall. I’m pregnant, not ill.” Moira handed the assassins the feed bucket, then listed off which animals had already been taken care of. She leaned against a stall door, placing a hand on her stomach that had just recently become too large to fit her normal clothes. Moira, though she loathed dresses, had began to wear them. The clothes Shay had left behind fit well enough, but Hope insisted it best for the baby if Moira wore clothes which wouldn’t restrict her midsection with belts or suspenders. Moira often slept in Shay’s shirts regardless of Hope’s warnings. 

“Be that as it may, I am not risking a blade to the throat from Shay if anything happens to you or little Lucky.” Laughter fell from both their throats despite the true threat of Shay should his family be injured. Hope placed an arm over Moira’s shoulders and started walking back to the manor. 

“Have you heard anything from our boys?” Moira questioned hesitantly. She’d asked a few days prior, only to be met with Achilles admonishing her for being too concerned. She paused for a moment, leaning against Hope .

“Liam sent word they’d made it to Lisbon, but that the last I’ve heard. Achilles and I are going to town later for supplies and a mail check. Hopefully we will hear something then.” Hope’s voice held the same melancholy tone Moira had felt in her husband’s absence.”Are you having problems with cramping again? You’ve got to drink your tea, it’ll help!. Let’s have a cup before Achilles and I leave for the day. Besides, the mint is excellent for Lucky and you.” The pair continued on into the manor. 

\---

With the manor missing it’s mentor and matriarch on their weekly run into town, Moira was left to manage the handful of assassins wandering the homesteads grounds. She had dispatched the assassins to miscellaneous tasks away from the manor, and enjoyed the quiet seeping to her bones.

Her back was aching, courtesy of the growing bump Shay had given her. She kept a headache more often than not, and thanked Hope profusely for the mint teas she kept made at nearly all hours. Even now, with nobody else around to drink it, Hope had made a final pot of tea for Moira before leaving. Moira nursed her most recent mug and fell deep into thought while wandering about the manor.

Since Connor’s death Achilles had become brutal to his recruits. More than once Moira and Hope had both rescued the poor soul who managed to interrupt his daily walk around the grounds. His tirades often landed both women with a bruise upon their shoulders, arms, or faces, but they refused to let the youngest among them suffer at his hands.

Moira often wrote to Shay about Achilles, hoping he would offer her some kind of solace. She had began toying with the idea of leaving the brotherhood, knowing full well the implications such a move would have on her, Shay, and Lucky. Leaving the brotherhood meant a constant target would be painted on their backs by Templars for the remainder of their lives. At least suffering Achilles would mean protection. Moira could protect herself well enough as a fully trained assassin, but protecting her child during its infancy would prove a challenge. Protecting Lucky as they grew older would come easier over time, but a child needed stability in their youngest years. Running from the Templars wouldn’t afford the stability.

Moira needed Shay’s input, his opinion on the matter, and she stressed this with every letter Hope delivered to the postmaster. Without a word from Shay, Moira was at a loss. She couldn’t just desert the assassins. She’d seen Achilles hunt down his men in the past for desertion without properly exiting the brotherhood. As resourceful as Moira was, there was a reason Achilles stood as mentor for the colonies. His prowess was unmet, especially in addition to ire. Moira had also lived on the homestead long enough to realize he wouldn’t grant her leave as she possessed knowledge very few were privy to in his brotherhood. Moira was held between a rock and a hard place, and, without Shay to guide her, she was at a loss. 

Shay’s radio silence was incredibly uncharacteristic. On the handful of missions he’d went on alone, he kept constant contact. Shay would write letters every day, then send them in bulk when he came to port. Moira was accustomed to lengthy reports containing small details from his each day. Shay had a habit of sending Moira something small from each port, be it a seashell from the shore or a bit of fabric to work into her most recent quilt. The only time she heard any information from Shay was through Liam’s brief statements to Hope. No letters, no tokens of his love, nothing. Had Shay perished at sea? Had he become ill? Had Liam left him in a port, drunk? Moira had no way of knowing even a facet of information about her husband in a time when she needed him most. 

Moira continued to ponder her husband as she carried a basket of freshly laundered clothing into Achilles’ master bedroom. She placed the basket on his bed then began folding each piece of clothing to place in the trunk beside his desk. Laundry, while consuming the hands, did little to distract her train of thought. 

Had Achilles hidden information from her to keep her from deserting the brotherhood? Now that was a train of thought which had popped up more than once. Achilles secrecy involving the mission had been a clue to something bigger happening, Moira had figured as much the day Shay departed for Lisbon. With no communication from Shay, Moira felt her fears that Achilles having ulterior motives had come true. 

With the basket of clothing folded, Moira popped open Achilles trunk and began to place his clothing. Achilles had a certain way he liked his things to be laid out. As the homestead’s current housekeeper (since Hope wouldn’t allow her to do much else) Moira had become accompanied to his specificities. She began to move a pile of trousers to refold them as they’d become quite crumpled in his recent morning routines. The stack felt heavier than a few pairs of cotton trousers, but Moira didn’t take notice. She placed the ones recently folded and set to work on the crumpled pairs. Moira lifted the second pair above her head, gave it a rough shake, and froze as something slid out of the pants leg and clattered to the floor. 

“Is that Shay’s writing?” Moira whispered to herself leaning down to retrieve a collection of bound letters. “Why would Achilles have these?” She spoke only slightly louder, abandoning her task to exit the room, bound letters in hand, and lock the door to her room. Even with nobody else on the premises, Moira didn’t want to risk someone finding her reading these when Achilles so clearly didn’t want her to know about them. 

-  
Moira, 

We’ve made it to Lisbon without a problem. This city is full of beauty and grandeur, but I miss you now more than ever. Your sweet smile would be a blessing aboard the Morrigan instead of Liam’s constant scowl. Feeling your hands brush over my chest each night in your sleep would provide me with a warmth I’ve missed in these months. Returning to you is my driving force. 

There’s a small pastry shop right off the docks you would enjoy. They have these sweets filled with cinnamon and an icing I’ve never tasted before. Liam says if I’m not lucky, I’ll get fat while we are here. They wouldn’t make the return trip, or I’d bring them home with us so we could get fat together. 

I haven’t heard anything from home. Liam relays all correspondence to me, and I wish I could read a letter from you. But, with you ill, you’re in no state to worry yourself with writing. Hope promised she would nurse you back to health, and have you back on your feet before we return. The mission is coming along quicker than expected. Liam and I expect to be back by the first snowfall. Liam be damned, I’ll make my way back as fast as possible. 

I miss you. I love you more than the fish love the sea.   
-Shay  
-

Moira frantically began searching the bundle of papers. Each letter was dated about two weeks apart, each containing small pieces of information from Shay regarding his journey. Some contained small gifts, others just his words, but all held the same truth: Achilles had been lying to her. The letters held his wishes for her health, his regard for her happiness, and his love. None mentioned Lucky, though Moira had written to Shay on a weekly basis detailing her hopes for the child, the first time she could feel Lucky’s movement, and her concerns for how their child would be raised. Moira quickly stashed the letters in her trunk, locked it, and bounded back to Achilles room. 

Her letters had never made it to Shay, of this Moira was certain. Shay loved his wife. They spoke of wanting children regularly, and Moira knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that Shay would have sent back blankets, bottles, clothing, anything he believed Moira would need to care for their child until his return. He would write with name suggestions he’d discovered along his travels. Shay wouldn’t brush her off. And this mysterious illness? Moira had been one of the few untouched by illness throughout the winter and spring. 

Achilles trunk was emptied, its contents laying on the wooden floorboards. Nothing. Moira moved on to the rolltop desk, grumbling in frustration at the lock. She flicked her wrist, exposing a hidden blade, jammed it between the lock and the wood, and snapped the lock clean in half. Achilles, among everything he was and everything Moira had discovered he could be, was not disorganized. Moira pulled open drawers, tossing them behind her when it didn’t hold the contents she searched for. She came to the last drawer, a small one which she knew was sized perfectly for pieces of parchment and small items. Moira opened the drawer. 

-  
Shay-

I'm hoping this reaches you before you return. Corresponding over long distances is more of a hassle than it's worth, but, I have some amazing news.

I'm pregnant!

I've taken to calling the little one 'Lucky' since you make your own luck. Lucky already has their father's spirit, ever wiggling around and making my daily tasks all the more difficult. I cannot wait for your return to me, to our little one. Lucky will likely make their presence known a month or so before you come back to the homestead. We will be here waiting for you.

Everyone here is ecstatic. They barely allow me to move a muscle, let alone continue training the novices. I've managed to argue Achilles into letting me continue working with marksmanship, as there is no threat to little Lucky there, but I mainly keep up with the housework in the manor. Hope rarely leaves my side, constantly talking about what a grand time Lucky and Aunt Hope will have once they arrive. There hasn't been a child born here since Connor. I believe even Achilles, through his stoicism, is just as excited for Lucky as the rest of us. 

Shay, I cannot wait for you to return home. I love you more now than ever before. Lucky is a blessing, and the very thought of raising them alongside you is enough to make my heart ache in anticipation. 

Travel safe, my love. You have more at stake than your old lady back home now. 

I love you more than the moon loves the stars.  
-Moira  
-

She flipped through the letters, each one detailing her boring routines and outlining Lucky’s growth. Moira tossed the letters to the floor, emptying the drawer. Beneath the letters was a sachet of tea. 

-  
Hope, 

Here’s the tea you asked for. The merchant in Savannah said to warn you it has something called Mentha pelugium. Makes a great cure for headaches and stomachaches, but he said it has some pretty rough side-effects. Nausea, vomiting, just rough stuff if you drink too much. 

Shay still thinks Moira is ill. He doesn’t know the truth, and I don’t intend on him knowing. Do what you have to do.

Liam  
-

Moira eyed the tea closely. It smelled the same as what Hope brewed every morning, noon, and night, then insisted Moira drink a cup while she stood by and watched. Mentha pelugium, she had heard the name before, but in a different context than aiding aches. Moira had known it as pennyroyal. 

Her hands dropped to her stomach, wishing Lucky to move once again. Lucky hadn’t been very mobile for a few days. Moira had chalked it up to he was just positioned differently from normal. Hope had been brewing tea for her constantly, saying it would help with the false contractions and stomach pain she’d experienced.   
She couldn’t trust anyone. She couldn’t trust Achilles, who had withheld all information from both her and Shay. She couldn’t trust Hope who had been poisoning her and trying to kill Lucky. She couldn’t trust Liam, upon his return he’d be aiding his mentors through thick and thin. Moira had one option while the mentors were away; run away, hide, and hope that Hope hadn’t yet destroyed her child. 

\---  
-  
Shay-

Do not trust the brotherhood. I’ve fled the homestead. Hope killed our child, and now that I know the truth, she is sure to kill me too. I had no option but to flee. I hope this finds you long before you return to the homestead. I am certain you are not safe either. 

Achilles having complete control over the assassins breeds only totalitarianism. The brotherhood must cease to exist. They no longer serve the light. 

-Moira  
-  
\---

She jotted down the message, sealed it in an envelope, and handed the letter over to the postmaster. She’d made it to Boston, and planned on making it farther before resting again. Her clothes were stained with her own blood, her hair escaped its braids in wisps which she tucked behind her ear. Moira was in pain, bleeding onto her skirts, and tired from riding her mare hard across the wilderness. 

“This needs to be delivered immediately.” Her voice wavered, given her current state Moira barely believed she would make it through the night, but she had to continue. She handed him a handful of gold stolen from Achilles safe. He took the payment without a word. 

“Those are quite interesting bracers for a woman.” A deep, baritone voice grasped Moira’s wrist. Moira spun on her to face the man holding her against her will. She silently exposed the second blade hidden in her other bracer, bringing it to his throat in a single move. 

“Aye, but they can be used just as efficiently by man or woman.” She growled, retracting the blade at his sight. Keeping a grasp on her wrist was the large hand of a broad shouldered man. His dark hair was tied back with a single, red ribbon, held under a tricorn cap. Cloaks of blue adorned his frame, and sitting on his hand was a ring marking him as Templar. 

“I do not doubt that for a second. However, you’re in no condition to fight and I will not take advantage of you in an unfair fight.” His grip on her loosened enough for Moira to shake her wrist free. “You must be the woman the assassins are after. Given your current state, riding much farther will kill you. I can offer you shelter and protection in exchange for information. Achilles wouldn’t be spending his time chasing after you if you weren’t important. Now, what say you?” Moira wasn’t given the chance to answer him. She crumpled in his arms.


	3. Mourning and Night

She stirred slowly, coming to life after frightening her Templar captors with the uncertainty of her life. Wind blew pleasantly across her face, bringing a handful of dark curls to rest over the bridge of her nose. Moira batted away the stray locks before her hand came to rest atop the blankets covering her. 

Silk? She questioned momentarily enjoying the sleek softness rustling against her legs. Moira stretched her legs, pushed the blankets down, and sat up. Dark, silk sheets adorned the the cedar framed bed. A single, thick quilt sat crumpled at the foot of the bed, with a crocheted afghan in a pile on the wooden floorboards beneath the bed frame. 

A window stood wide open adjacent to her bed. Without a thought, Moira jumped out of bed and raced to the window. 

“If you’re thinking of jumping, the drop isn’t far enough to kill you, only put you in excruciating pain.” A familiar, baritone voice spoke up from across the room. Moira remained at the window for a moment longer. Her intentions hadn’t been to jump. No, Moira lept to the window to feel the breeze cross her cheeks, to take in the scent of leaves composting in the field beneath her room, to realize for only a moment she was still alive. 

“You’re the Grandmaster, Haytham Kenway.” Moira stated plainly, still gazing out the window. An open field sprawled across an estate she presumed belonged to the Templar Order. Why she was being held in a bedroom instead of a cell, she couldn’t figure out. Quite honestly, Moira was having trouble remembering how she came into the custody of the Templar Grandmaster, but didn’t want to push the issue. They had evidently taken care of her, and Moira was smart enough not to bite the hand feeding her. 

“And you’re Moira Cormac.” He stated just as plainly. He moved silently from the chair, taking a place behind her. Haytham placed a hand on her shoulder. She brushed his hand away. “We received word Achilles had began a search for you a couple days back. Why would that be?” Moira couldn’t help but scoff at his questioning. 

“I’m only answering your questions once mine are answered, and once you agree to my husband’s safety.” She continued looking over the lawn, taking notice now in the lengthy road which stretched from the house to the end of her vision. 

“You wish for the Templar Grandmaster to ensure the safety of an assassin? That would certainly set a dangerous precedent. I can see to it that my men do not harm him unless he troubles us.” A pair of horses came onto the road, trotting happily as their riders spoke to one another. Moira considered his proposal. She honestly hadn’t believed he would even allow the measures offered.

“Where am I?” She conceded to his offer. “I’m assuming some sort of headquarters, but why aren’t I sitting in a cell?” Moira turned to face the man she’d been sworn to kill for so long. His features were shaded in the midday light barely gracing the room, but she could still make out a handful of features. She knew from memory that Haytham had dark hair, far darker than that of his assassin father’s. He possessed high-set cheekbones, giving his cheeks a hollowed appearance, and eyes dark as sin. His painting hanging in Achilles’ basement did little justice to this man bearing a Greek cross upon the silver ring adorning his left hand. 

A series of emotions played across his face. Most, Moira could not quite identify, but one flashed clearer than the others. Haytham held concern for this assassin woman who would no sooner share a table with him than kill him in cold blood. Worry seeped into his eyes, granting them a lighter hue. 

“You’re being held in a compound not far from Boston. As for why you aren’t in a cell, that answer is a bit more complicated.” Haytham paused for a moment, the same concern Moira had noticed prior. “I had no intentions of imprisoning you to begin with. All of my men were under strict orders to bring you in without a scratch, if possible. Achilles’ sending out an order for your capture meant two things. First, you were important for whatever reason, and second, you had information he didn’t want us to know.”

It was Moira’s turn for a look of concern to flash over her features. Capturing Templars for information was a dismal affair under Achilles reign. Beneath the manor was a basement room equipped with miscellaneous devices of torture. Oftentimes Liam or Hope would take up the reins to keep Achilles from getting his hands bloody, and all in the name of intel. Moira herself had been forced to participate in this act more than once under her mentor’s orders. 

“My turn,” Haytham interrupted Moira’s string of thoughts. “Why did you run? The report we recieved said you had ransacked the manor, stole a horse, stole a load of gold, and left while the others were out on assignment.” 

Moira brushed past Haytham, using the opportunity to survey the rest of the room. Based upon the grandmaster’s flawless appearance, she guessed her room was low on his priority list. In the far corner stood a basic wardrobe, made of materials matching the bed frame. Beside the wardrobe sat a large, roll top desk, opened and revealing rolls of parchment, a handful of quills, and three inkpots. Moira noticed a small stack of books atop the desk with bits of fabric sticking out marking the last reader’s spot. A rocking chair held the final bit of floorspace along the wall. Moira made her way to the rocking chair, taking care to glance out the window. 

So much had happened in such a short time. Moira didn’t know where to begin. 

“If you called for a doctor, you already know a part, so, I suppose I’ll start there.”

\---

Night fell on the compound for all but Moira. She sat in her room, rocking in the chair, and gazing out the open windows, taking breaks only to occasionally pace to the trunk Haytham had been kind enough to provide. He’d had her clothing laundered, removed the blood stains, and saw to it that more clothing be placed in the wardrobe should she wish to wear them. Few women existed within the Order, which was fortunate for Moira. The men had scraped together clothing small enough to fit her from between the handful currently residing on the estate, and Haytham had her measurements taken to order a handful of gowns from Boston. 

The Templars had been surprisingly helpful so far. After taking her into custody, Haytham had sent for a doctor who managed to stop her bleeding. He ordered the few women on the estate to look after Moira. They were friendly enough, but she’d already realized she preferred the company of the Grandmaster to his underlings. He reminded her of Shay, in some small way. Maybe it was the way he held himself when speaking to others, or his curiosity into her past and reasons for leaving the Brotherhood, or maybe it was something else entirely, but he reminded her of Shay, and that was enough reason to stick to his side. 

Haytham was sympathetic behind his stone wall facade. Moira had been introduced to the few Order members on the premises during dinner. Their names she already knew. Each one had been a contract issued by Achilles. Each one she had sent assassins after on the days she was left to run the homestead. Each one had eyed her suspiciously, some even going so far as to insinuate everything had been a ploy for Moira to infiltrate their compound and assassinate them all in the night. All except for Haytham. Haytham had requested Moira sit at his side throughout dinner. With every insult sent her direction, he silenced the member responsible, 

They’d sat in her room for hours. Haytham listened to her story, only chiming in when things were unclear, or he had a reason to doubt her. Moira didn’t have a reason to lie, and made her intentions abundantly clear. With a doctor’s evaluation, two bundles of unread letters, and even the orders saying to poison her as proof, Haytham believed her every word.Miora had made a snap decision leaving the homestead, one which spelled out her death if the assassins found out about the compound. Her entire livelihood as an assassin was over. Her child was lost, the only remnants of Lucky left were the pieces of fabric Haytham’s men had been unable to remove blood stains from. Moira was certain now that Shay would face repercussions for her actions. 

She had lost everything. Her identity, her husband, her child, and her way of live overnight. Moira had but one ally, and even now she was unsure what lengths the Grandmaster would go to for her. Would his camaraderie end with her usefulness? He had issued an order stating no harm would come to Shay by his men, but would that order only stand so long as he could use her? Moira was in pain, both physical and emotional. 

Physical pain she had learned to cope with. She could create a tea or salve to cure most ailments and to ease pains. Despite having lost Lucky, Moira had continued bleeding in the handful of days past. She felt the absence of their soft kicks against her ribs. Her abdomen had already began shrinking back to its pre-pregnancy size and shape, and she loathed the transformation. Poking at her stomach only to have no child nudge her back was pure agony. Even now, she sat in her rocking chair, a hand absentmindedly perched across her stomach, and she wept. 

Tears streamed across her cheeks, falling below her chin and staining the cotton tunic she’d been given from Haytham himself. She fiddled with her wedding ring, flipping it back and forth between her thumb and forefinger. Wherever Shay was on the deep, blue sea, she envied him. His ignorance to her situation would certainly be bliss. Shay was blessed with no knowledge of Moira’s rebellion, of Lucky, of anything she’d been through, and she envied him more with each thought. Shay had two choices to make, in Moira’s mind. His first option would be to stay with Achilles, remain an assassin, and forget about her entirely. His second option would be running, just as she had, and escaping the brotherhood. 

Moira’s tears ran thick and fast across her face. She didn’t bother brushing away the streaks knowing more were to come. Moira stared out the window, watching the stars. 

She often told Shay she loved him more than the moon loved the stars. It meant more to her than just a cute was to say she loved him. No matter where they were in the world, Shay and Moira both could look up at the same moon and the same stars, and be connected by their shared, night sky. It meant they could look to the skies, and find their way back to the other. It meant they could always have just one thing to make them smile. 

Moira flipped her ring again, this time placing it back on her finger. Whatever Shay was going through, wherever he was in the world, had to certainly be better than her circumstances.


	4. Aye, Grandmaster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!  
> I am absolutely in love with your support! Please keep commenting, leaving kudos, and letting me know how you feel about how things are going!
> 
> Just a note, the original version of this chapter was posted a couple days ago, and I wound up hating it after reading it a few times. So, please reread the chapter before moving on to chapter five. 
> 
> Thank you for your support, and please bare with me as I rework a few things.

“What do you think their course of action will be?” Haytham questioned Moira softly, garnering a look of intrigue from a few members of his inner circle, and a look of pure disgust from one man she’d come to know as Charles Lee. 

Charles Lee was a gruff man. Short, with a mop of coal black hair atop his head and across his upper lip. He was a rash man, often jumping to conclusions long before being given a decent reason. Of the circle, Charles was the one to dispute Moira’s current position within the Order most, and dispute he did. 

“You can’t be serious, asking this woman for her opinion, Haytham. She’s one of them. We can’t trust her.” Charles rose from the table, slamming a knife into the pine surface. 

“Charles, I’ve found Moira to be quite helpful since we’ve taken her in.” Piped in another Templar, this one coming to her defense. Johnson, she believed his name to be. 

The men began to bicker amongst themselves about whether or not Moria deserved to have any input, all except for Haytham. In the few months Moira had been staying on the Templar estate she had discovered one thing. Haytham’s word was law. He would allow the men to argue to their heart’s content, but he had the final say in all matters. Their opinions often didn’t phase him in the slightest once his mind was set on something. Moira had found her way into the inner circle, and suddenly the Grandmaster himself asked for her thoughts on difficult matters. 

Haytham had received word in the morning that the assassins had leveled part of Portugal. While Moira didn’t know what Shay had been doing there, his letters to her had betrayed enough of Achilles plans. Haytham and Moira had spent the entire day pouring over Shay’s correspondence searching for any clues even remotely relevant. 

“Achilles is playing God.” Moira silenced the men with her rising voice. Each one in attendance watched her closely. “My husband, he wrote letters about weekly while sailing to Lisbon, and I’ve been able to read his letters since coming here.. Achilles hadn’t entrusted any information to me or the others, but he had to Shay and Liam. Lisbon is, well, was, a Precurser site containing an Apple. Shay said they spent two months searching for the temple, and that was the last we’ve heard from him.” She paused. Lee’s face bore an angry expression, with knitted eyebrows and breath held in his cheeks. 

“And how can we trust you? How can we trust the information you’ve said to have received? You’re a goddamn assassin, what’s worse is you’re married to the one who decided to play with an Apple of Eden. Grandmaster, we cannot trust her.” Lee spat in Moira’s direction. Moira couldn’t help but smirk. Haytham had read every letter. He’d seen the evidence Moira relayed to them now, and she knew he wouldn’t stand for her being called a liar. Haytham rose from his seat next to Moira. 

“Enough!” He shouted, staring into Charles’ eyes, waiting for even a hint of rebellion against his rule. Charles sunk back in his chair. “As for her information, I have read the letters myself. Shay Cormac was under instruction to locate the Precurser Temple, and bring the Apple back to the assassins. He wasn’t able to bring the Apple with him. The city fell too quickly, which is why I requested Moira’s thoughts. Achilles plan to retrieve the Apple didn’t go through. She knows him and the Brotherhood better than the rest of us.” 

It was Moira’s turn to stand. She pulled a couple of Shay’s letters that went into more detail than the others about his thoughts on the mission. He had been instructed to investigate the site, and retrieve whatever he found there for Achilles. Moira tossed the letters down chuckling when one managed to hit Lee square in the jaw. She flashed him a smirk before sitting down. 

“He will go after another site. Achilles wanted the Apple for something. Earlier Templars sought out the Apples to control humanity, forcing subservience and obedience to them. My guess is Achilles was after the same idea. If he controlled the crown, he could bring everyone under his beliefs, and let the assassins rule. Achilles hates the crown, hates their rule, and wants the colonies to be free. We need to find the next site, and keep them from leveling another city. Haytham and I believe that these sites are holding the world together, a bit like support beams in a barn. One or two being disturbed won’t compromise the structural integrity, but if more are disturbed, the barn will collapse.” 

The group quieted, each one taking Moira’s words to heart. 

“As for whether I can be trusted, what have I to gain from my candor? I’ve lost all that was dear to me. My husband has quit corresponding. Knowing the lengths Achilles will go to, he’s likely dead, and, even if he weren’t, I’ve turned my back on everything he believes and stands for. What have I to gain from losing everything? If you were to cut me down where I stand, I wouldn’t bat an eye, Charles.” The scrape of Moira’s chair sliding across the wooden slats making up the floor sounded as she stood, arms wide apart, and glaring at the man who dared call her assassin after all she’d been through. Moira believed she’d make her intentions clear enough by assisting the Templars in the past months. She had renounced the assassins, their creed, their twisted view of how the world was meant to be run. “Now’s your chance, Charles, for here I stand.”

She’d believed the group quieted before, but her actions drew a hush from all members present. The only sound present was the faint click of her blades extending then retracting from her bracers. It was a habit she’d began as a novice, to fiddle with her blades when anxious, and nothing gave her a dose of anxiety more than silence caused by herself. 

“That won’t be necessary.” Haytham stood silently, placing a hand at the small of her back. “Charles won’t be killing anyone this night. And neither will you for that matter.” He pushed her chair back to its original spot, gesturing for Moira to retake her place. She still glared at Charles, but appeased the Grandmaster. “Gentlemen, and Moira, I believe our course of action is clear. Find the next precurser site, and keep the assassins from disrupting another one.”

The men each mumbled something along the lines of ‘yes sir” under their breath, still shaken by the prior scene. Moira sat still as stone, watching each man as they wiped looks of disbelief from their faces. Charles, in particular, had caught her attention. Charles was a man used to getting things he desired without a struggle. Moira believed him capable of many things, but bluffing hadn’t been one of them. For all his claims to what Moira was, she’d thought, given the opportunity, he would end her life, but he hadn’t. Charles had pressed farther into his chair, eyes wide open as she called his bluff. 

“On to our next order of business.” Haytham interrupted Moira’s moment of thought. “With her current alliance, Moira has more than proven herself. Every piece of information she’s given us has been true, and she’s aided the Order’s cause more than any one of us have in the years we’ve been in the colonies. I would like to induct her as a member of the Templar Order.” Moira’s focus suddenly snapped from Lee to the man at her side. Haytham’s hand rested on her thigh, tracing absent minded circles unto the soft, cotton trousers she wore. “All those who agree, say aye.” He instructed simply, to a chorus of affirmatives. “Any opposed?” Haytham eyed Charles, expecting a negative answer. Inducting a new member needed a vote of agreement from all members of the circle, and Moira would be no exception. To their surprise, Charles didn’t speak up, but voiced a meek ‘aye’.

Haytham’s request for her joining the Order had been discussed before, but only ever between the two of them. Moira feared the other members would respond poorly to the idea of a woman taking up arms with them, even if she were a well-trained, former assassin. Charles had voiced enough foul thoughts at simply using her for information, but the very idea of her being his equal wouldn’t sit well. Haytham had assured Moira that no harm would come to her from his men regardless if she joined them. Charles’ agreement was nothing short of surprise to Moira and Haytham both. 

“Excellent. We will reconvene in a fortnight to commence the ceremony. You all have a mission to attend to. You’re dismissed.” The men each exited the room quietly and quickly.

She remained seated, watching flames lick stone in the nearby fireplace. Haytham’s hand still rested on her thigh. Moira brushed it away. 

“Haytham, I am still married.” She stated plainly, pushing her chair across the wooden beams once again. “I am flattered, but I won’t betray Shay more than I already have.” Moria faced Haytham. He wore a smirk, and a laugh fell from his lips. 

“I’d hoped for a different answer, but I respect your choice.” She began to walk away, leaving Haytham without a reply. “You never did give an answer to the Order. It is, after all, your decision. What say you to joining my Order?” Moira turned to face him again, this time with a hint of excitement in her expression.

“Aye, Grandmaster.”


	5. May the Father of Understanding Guide Us

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!   
> First thing's first. Thank you to all of my amazing readers. I never anticipated this work getting very far at all and I have somehow managed to find some readers who evidently like my 4 AM, caffeine fueled work! I couldn't do this without your support!  
> Second, I apologize for taking a couple weeks to get this chapter out. You know that saying 'when it rains it pours'? That's been my life. I have finals next week I've been studying for and working on final projects as well. Then my great-grandmother was put in hospice last weekend, and now my family is all fighting, and it's just a bad time. Unless I find time again, I likely won't be writing until at least Wednesday next week. If my exams go well, maybe before then, but studying has to come first.  
> Third, please keep commenting! I love seeing everyone's thoughts and opinions. Feel free to say anything on your mind, even if its criticism. I'd rather know what everyone thinks and be able to correct it than continue writing something that bothers my readers!
> 
> Thank you all, again! Please keep on reading!

Nearly two weeks had passed since the Templar’s had voted on whether to accept Moira as one of their own. She had spent each day wandering around the estate in an attempt to familiarize herself with her future brothers-in-arms. So far, Thomas Hickey had been her favorite among them. He hadn’t argued her induction for a second, and even enjoyed the fact that they would have a woman to use for missions requiring a more delicate touch than his own, or any of the others. She quickly learned he could hold down far more whiskey than any man should, and could be easily persuaded to do most anything if she offered a bottle of his favorite drink in return. Not that she’d used this to her advantage, but it was knowledge she knew she could one day use. 

Snow had started to litter the ground. Winter had come, and the Templars often remained indoors for warmth. The estate held enough to keep everyone entertained in some form or fashion on the coldest days so far. Haytham often busied himself in the dense library, reading book after book, and occasionally reading bits of his favorite pieces to Moira when she inquired to his readings. Hickey hid near the kitchens, constantly drinking or grazing on the maids latest meals with William Johnson not too far behind. Charles Lee was often found at the Grandmaster’s side prattling on about some nonsense that didn’t need Haytham’s input, though he would respond anyway. Moira found herself in the training room honing her skills on dummies, or sparring with the men. Hickey and Johnson had quit volunteering after finding their backs to the floor with a blade at their throats. Lee refused to humor her entirely, and now she found herself in a sparring ring with Haytham himself. 

“Ha! You’ll have to move faster if you want to beat me!” Moira practically sang across the sparring ring towards a very flustered Haytham Kenway. Her lengthy curls had fallen from the ribbon holding them back, and she swatted them from her eyes. Haytham lay on his back a few feet away, glaring up at her before hopping to his feet. 

“Come, now. I’m going easy on you. You are, after all, a woman.” His excuse only brought laughter to the Irish Woman's lips. A woman she may be, but she had never let her biology be an excuse for shoddy sparring. Haytham had no reason to fight her with any less ferocity than he would any of the men under his control, and he was well aware of this fact. Even being aware, Moira could still tell he held back. 

Haytham was an assassin by blood, same as her. He had been taught from an early age by his own father before his father’s untimely death, and his instincts were second-nature to him much as hers were. Moira hadn’t been trained since childhood, but she had spent her every waking moment trying to beat Shay during their time with Achilles, and refused to let him do anything better than her. 

“Now, Haytham, that’s no excuse. I’m used to sparring with Shay. You think he ever went easy on me?” Moira bounced over to Haytham. “Neither of us spared the other our strength. He is strong, stronger than you by far, and I’d wake up the next morning covered in bruises. Granted I was quite a bit faster than him, so he awoke with his fair share too.” She hoped her taunts wouldn’t fall on deaf ears. None of the Templars had been able to give her a run for her money, and Moira wanted to work off some of her pent-up anger from everything she’d been through. Haytham had been a bit more of a challenge, but had presented no real threat so far. 

“Stronger than I? I’ve met few men who could best me in battle.” He leaned against the wooden rails separating the sparring ring from the racks of weapons. Moira stood at his side, trying to gauge his reaction to her words. He didn’t stand any more tense than usual, yet his stance held something else she couldn’t quite place. Was it over-confidence? Or annoyance?

Haytham’s hair fell in disarray, mirroring Moira’s own. His locks weren’t quite as dark as hers, and held none of the curl most did. She reached for his bangs, moving them away from his face. His eyes met hers, and Moira decided to use the emotion she sensed beneath his gaze against him. 

“You need a haircut.” She tucked the pieces of hair behind his ear. “An enemy,” her hand lingered over his ear for a moment. “Could easily,” she twisted a piece of his hair through her fingers, “use it against you!” Moira shouted the last four words, grabbed the rest of his ponytail, and slammed the Grandmaster’s face into the highest wooden beam. She sprinted back across the ring, picking up a short sword and dagger from the ground. 

“That was a cheap move.” Haytham picked up a longer blade and advanced. Moira danced away from his blade, jumped behind him, and used the dull side of her short blade to jab the back of his knees. “As was that.” His voiced edged on frustration, but there was still something beneath his demeanor she couldn’t identify. Moira’s laughter filled the room. 

“You’ve clearly never fought anyone untrained in combat. They’ll take whatever shortcuts necessary to win the struggle. They also remember those shortcuts even when trained. Fighting with a gentleman’s honor will only get you one place, and that’s into a grave. That’s twice now I’ve had you on the ground.” Haytham stood once again, facing Moira. Anger tinged his dark irises briefly. 

Haytham swung his sword with every bit of strength he could muster against the woman taunting him. Moira had wanted Haytham to give her a decent sparring match, and he was finally obliging. Her blades caught against his, clashing with more noise than either had suspected. Moira held her short blade beneath his, seizing it mere centimeters from her throat. She dropped her dagger, dunked beneath his sword, and used the dagger as a grip to pull his ankle. Moira jerked quickly, rolled opposite the falling man, then grabbed his own discarded sword. 

Moira lunged across the ground, launching herself over Haytham’s broad shoulders before he could stand again. Haytham rolled both of them, pinning Moira to the floor. He held her arms above her head, and weighed down her hips with his own. 

“As I said, few men can best me.” A smirk graced Haytham’s face. This close Moira could see his eyes much more clearly. They weren’t all dark. They held flecks of green, making them appear hazel under the shadow of his hair once more. 

“It’s a good thing I’m no man, isn’t it?” She returned his smirk, and wiggled her hips slightly. Haytham’s smirk softened into a smile. His grip on her slacked. 

“That is an excellent thing.” His voice was a near whisper.It was Haytham’s turn to brush stray hairs from Moira’s face. Her shoulders were freed with his hands at either side of her neck. One held her curls. His fingers combed through them easily. Moira lunged up, crashing her skull into his. Haytham rolled to his back, reaching up to his forehead. She used this opportunity to sprint out of the ring.

“Moira! Get back here! That’s an order!” Haytham shouted after her. “I will not tolerate insubordination!” Moira heard heavy footsteps behind her. With his long legs, Haytham would be on her in a moment. She dashed into the dining room, flew through the kitchen, and jolted into the library, her laughter giving away her position the entire way. 

“Sorry Charles!” She shouted, shoving him out of her way. A thud sounded behind her as Moira scaled the tallest bookshelf and perched in wait. She leaned down, holding her balance on the tip of her toes. 

“Haytham! Do something about that goddamned woman! She came running in here-” Charles began shouting at Haytham as he rounded the corner into the library. Haytham crashed into Charles, sending the angry man tumbling to the floor once again. 

Moira watched from above. There was no other exit from the library, but it did contain shelving standing over twenty feet high with ladders and rollers connecting the shelves. Haytham’s gaze shifted to the shelves. Her only way out of this room was up, and he was trying to figure out her likely course of movement. Haytham stepped beside her shelf, still unable to see Moira crouched above. 

“Haytham.” She sang out. Moira launched herself from the shelf. Her legs caught atop his shoulders, pinned him to the ground once again, and unsheathed her hidden blades. “You’ve still never been bested by a man, have you Grandmaster?” Both of them erupted with laughter.

“Is this the conduct we are being held to now?” Charles scoffed. “Grandmaster, you’re slipping.” Moira leapt to her feet. 

“He isn’t slipping. He just has a decent sparring partner now. Evidently he likes to hold back until he’s presented with a real challenge.” This earned not only another scoff, but a scowl in addition. “Really, Charles, have you no interest in a chase, in the hunt of your prey? I’ve found it makes the end results that much more satisfying.”  
“Satisfaction is irrelevant so long as my goal is reached in the end.” Oh how Moira wanted to punch the scowl right off his ugly mug. Her blades were still unsheathed, and she quickly sheathed them, not wanting to escalate the situation much further. 

“That’s quite telling, Charles.” Haytham diffused the impending argument. “Moira isn’t wrong. The right partner can completely change your outlook on things. Today, for instance, I learned never to underestimate your opponent. She could have killed me three times over, and I wouldn’t have seen the blows coming from a mile away. As for my conduct, that is not your position to judge. I’d simply forgotten that not everything has to be taken seriously.” Charles still wore a scowl. His eyes darted between Moira and the Grandmaster. 

“I may have voted to let this woman into our ranks, but do not expect me to abide by her.” He growled. The room couldn’t have held much more tension over a single comment.

“I don’t expect much from you to begin with. You haven’t exactly been friendly with me.” Moira raised a hand to Haytham, indicating she had the situation under control. “But do not for a second believe I will abide by you until the same respect you believe you are owed is shown to me as well. Until then, I take my orders from Haytham, and Haytham alone.” Charles opened his mouth to speak again.

“That’s enough. We all have a ceremony to prepare for, do we not?” Charles eyed Haytham, anger still roiling beneath his calm facade. The Grandmaster was correct, they all had a ceremony to attend to.

\-----

The room was dark, lit only by the sparse candles and residual glow from the fireplace flames licking upwards. Moira stood at the far end of a long table, adorned from head to toe in Templar robes. With her curls tied back the high collar of her outermost layer framed her face, giving Moira’s soft features a far harsher edge than the others knew she could express. Her round face appeared longer, her cheeks more shallow. 

“Do you swear to uphold the principles of our order?” Haytham appeared from the shadows, wearing his finest regalia. The others came to the table, each one laying down their weapons as they appeared. 

“I do.” She replied. 

“And never to share our secrets nor divulge the true nature of our work?”

“I do.” Her same response was spoken easier this time. 

“And to do so from now until death- whatever the cost?” Haytham paused before breathing, glancing up at Moira uncertainly.

“I do.” She answered as before. 

“Then we welcome you into our fold, sister. You are now a Templar, harbinger of a New World. May the Father of Understanding guide us.” 

“May the Father of Understanding guide us.” Moira repeated with the rest of the men. 

Hickey, Johnson, and Lee all left the table quickly, leaving Moira alone with Haytham. He approached her, dousing each candle as came closer.

“Do your robes suffice?” Haytham questioned easily, handling a small box.

“They’re excellent. Your tailor did an amazing job.” He handed the box to her. “I take it this is my official, Templar ring?” She opened the top, revealing a thin, silver band with a single ruby at its top. Each side of the ruby had a Templar cross carved in. Moira quickly placed the ring on her left hand. 

“Might I say black and red suit you far nicer than white.” Her cheeks flushed at his comment. 

“Th-thank you.” She couldn’t help but smile. “So, Grandmaster, what are your first official orders to me as one of your men?” She changed the topic quickly. 

“Get some rest. Our first mission starts tomorrow at dawn.” Moira made her way upstairs to her room.

The fire cast shadows across her room, bathing the bed in a warm glow. Moira quickly undressed and cast her robes aside. Come morning she’d be donning them again as they rode for the Homestead. Word had reached Haytham that the Morrigan had been sighted not far from the nearest port. 

Haytham had revealed her first mission would be to find out everything she could from Shay, but not to compromise herself or the Order in the process. She didn’t know what to expect. Her appearance had changed in the year he’d been gone. Her hair was long, reaching her lower back when unbound. She’d lost weight, then gained it back in muscle while training, caring for the livestock, or helping maintain upkeep on the estate. She’d seen hell, and returned with her shoulders held back and eyes straight ahead. 

Her appearance wasn’t the only thing changed, Moira had. A year ago she was willing to follow the assassins to the ends of the earth, now look at her. She fiddled with the ring on her hand. Haytham had given her this symbol of allegiance, yet hers had been so delicately designed in stark contrast to the plain bands the others wore. Taunting and teasing him while they were sparring had come entirely too easy for her, as it had with Shay in the early days of their relationship. Haytham was nothing like Shay, not really. Shay was laughter, merriment, and spending every moment with Moira possible lest he miss something he could tease her about later on. Shay was passionate, caring, and the kindest soul Moira had ever been privileged to know. Haytham was quiet, serious, and today had been the first time she'd seen a side to him truly different from his normal persona. He craved control, yet had let Moira do with him as she wished, even making him seem a fool in front of Charles. His smile, his laughter stirred something deep within Moira, something she hadn't felt in a long while, and she was doing her best to equate that feeling to nerves, or even to the brief moment when she thought back to Shay chasing her about the Homestead as Haytham had earlier. Souls craved laughter and silliness. 

Moria shoved away her thoughts. She had a hard mission ahead of her, and couldn't disappoint her Grandmaster her first time out. She was a sworn Templar, and her enemy was now those she once called brother, sister, and even husband. They had to be stopped. Achilles had to be stopped. If ruining her own life saved the lives of others, so be it. 

No matter how conflicted she could become, the Father of Understanding would guide her.


	6. Do Not Trust The Brotherhood

Snow covered every blade of grass as Moira’s mare trotted along what she believed to be the road. She’d traversed the trails between the Homestead and Boston on many occasions, and her experience with them was weighing greatly in their favor as more snow rained down upon them. 

“Do you have any idea where we are?” Haytham called out over the wail of wind. She couldn’t help but laugh. How the Templars had managed to live for so long was beyond her. Yes, they were strong willed and trained in combat, but those skills were useless in the frontier. Trees tended to split in opposite directions from the scant trails crisscrossing the valleys. Roads sat an inch or two lower than the banks to their sides, and the snow lay flat instead of in lumps as it would drift up against rocks and trees. The weather followed them from the North. With the wind at their backs, Moira was even more confident in their heading. 

“Not far from the homestead. If the weather lets up, we can make it by nightfall. Even if it doesn’t let up, we need to keep moving. The cover of dark would be preferable.” They approached a fork in the road. “Whoa, girl.” Moira lightly pulled back on her reins, earning a snort from her buckskin mount. She hopped off the horse and handed the reins over to Haytham. “Stay here for a minute.” Moira instructed before disappearing into the forest surrounding them. 

Moira didn’t give him any time to protest. She had to find the sun to gather her bearings, which meant scaling the tallest tree she could find. The snow rose above her ankles, and piled a couple inches high on every tree branch. She would have to be careful, but Moira had an assassins blood, and climbing was nothing for one with training. Selecting a tree, she made short work of it, and found herself perched far above the ground. 

The sun shown ever so slightly beyond the clouds. They needed to head east. Moira located the trails leading them in the right direction then gazed down. The snow didn’t seem so harsh from this high up. The flakes felt lighter as they sprinkled her face. Moira wiped them from her eyes and looked down again. 

Haytham’s blue tricorn caught her attention. She was only twenty, maybe twenty-five feet higher than him, and could still spot that ridiculous hat from above. The snow drifted against a boulder on his right, and Moira let her instincts take over. 

“Incoming!” She shouted, twisting through the air and landing gracefully in the drift. 

“Moira?” Haytham questioned, watching the snow for any hint of movement. The pile moved slightly, followed by a black-clad arm shooting forward. Moira hopped to her feet, brushing excess snow from her clothing as she went. 

“Yes?” She inquired innocently, taking the reins from him and mounting her mare. She didn’t give Haytham the chance to answer her before spurring her mare into a trot down the correct path.  
“You could have died!” He argued once catching up to her. Moira couldn’t help but laugh. She had performed that maneuver from far higher places than a tree branch on multiple occasions. 

“I was perfectly safe. It’s all in how you manage the fall.” She now wore a smirk.

“You have to stay alive for the mission, Moira. Jumping from that height could have ruined our entire plan.” Haytham’s horse made his way beside hers. She glanced at him. His dark eyes were ripe with concern. 

“Sure, the mission is why I have to stay alive.” She tried to make light of the situation. Moira brushed off Haytham’s concern. She had decided he was her leader and nothing more. With this in mind, and the snow letting up, Moira kicked her horse into a canter, and made her way across the frontier. Shay was only a few hours away, and she refused to let Haytham ruin her reunion with him. 

\-----

Nightfall had approached quickly, as had the Davenport Homestead. Moira and Haytham had stopped on the properties border while she changed into her old assassins robes. If she were to even have a hope of speaking to her husband, Moira needed to make it to him first. Templar robes would earn her a blade to the throat on sight. The white robes gave her a chance of sneaking across the property without problem. Haytham had insisted on Moira donning a wig, and went so far as to suggest she disguise her accent. She’d quickly disposed of the wig and opted to simply keep her hood pulled low over her eyes. 

She sat now, crouched in some bushes watching the water. The Morrigan slowly made her way through the rocky terrain and was approaching the docks. She would have to wait for Shay to show himself and get his attention somehow then. If things went according to plan, Achilles and Hope would remain in the manor waiting on Liam’s report as they normally did. Shay would see to all supplies being stored or distributed and mending any injuries the Morrigan suffered during her travels. 

The plan relied heavily on Moira even being able to speak with Shay. In disguise, under the cover of dark, she was unsure if he would even recognize her. Haytham his in the forest not too far from where Moira hid, and he ordered Colonel George Monro to keep a ship nearby in case they needed a hasty exit or heavy artillery. The ship also held a handful of other loyal Templars for backup, but everything hinged on Moira.

The Morrigan slowly docked. Shay’s crew exited the boat, and she heard shouting from inside the captain’s cabin. Moira could hear Shay’s drawl over Liam’s, and decided to make her way to the decks now that the sailors had dispersed. Moira poked her head out of the brush looking for any others. The sailors were gone, and neither Hope or Achilles were anywhere in sight. If either Shay or Liam were to hear her moving around on deck, they’d likely assume it was one of their men, and leave her be. 

The Morrigan was all too familiar to her. Her and Shay had spent plenty of nights hiding away in the cabin, many days working repairs, and all other free time somewhere on the ship finding anything they could think of to get into. She could tell from the shadows that Shay’s lamps were burning low on oil. She also knew which boards would groan under weight and how to avoid them. Moira made her way across the deck, skipping over loose boards and praying there were no new ones to disturb. She perched behind a stack of barrels and began the wait. Liam and Shay had to stop arguing eventually. She would find him then. 

After a few minutes of waiting, Liam exited the cabin, swearing under his breath. Moira waited until his form was lost to the shadows, then walked into the cabin.

“I told you to leave, Liam.” Shay growled with his back to the door. “You’d be wise to listen.” 

“I’m not Liam.” That spun Shay on his heels. “I ought not have to listen when this ship is just as much my home as yours.” Moira locked the door behind her then lowered her hood. Shay crossed the floor in three steps and locked Moira in his arms.

The sea, he smelled of the sea. Saltwater, leather, and a distinct musk that was his alone nearly brought her to tears. He was here. He was alive, and Achilles hadn’t ordered his demise, but he was with her, and that’s what mattered. Moira tilted his head down to hers, kissing him with all the desperation and frustration she’d experienced in the last year. Shay backed her into the wall, using the wooden planks as a brace she leaned against the wall and was finally able to really look at him. 

His hair had grown several inches and was secured at the nape of his neck with wisps escaping to frame his face. His eyes normally bright and lively were dulled, with red lines traversing them. He was tired, she could read that from his every movement. He’d traveled so long and so far, and she realized now he had been through hell too. 

“You’re alive?” His voice was laced with concern and awe. “I thought for certain Achilles would go after you.”

“Achilles doesn’t have the men to come after me where I’ve been.” Moira responded, planting another kiss on his lips. This one was light, lacking all the passion as the last, and served simply for Moira to feel his skin against hers. 

“What happened here? Your letter-” Moira knew well what her letter had said. Do not trust the brotherhood.

“I found your letters hidden by Achilles. Shay, I was never sick. I was pregnant. I wrote to you constantly, but the letters never made it to the post office. They hid them. Achilles, Hope, and Liam are all in league together. They poisoned me, they killed our baby, and I deserted them. The Templar’s found me, took me in, and nursed me back to health.” 

“Why would they do that?” Shay had to already know the answer. “You’ve been working with them.” His voice was nearly a whisper. Moira slipped the silver band from her hand and showed it to Shay.

“I became one. Shay, they offer protection to you even if you don’t join their ranks. Achilles has to be stopped, and we cannot do that alone. With the Order backing us, we stand a chance. I read what happened in Lisbon. The Grandmaster received word shortly after. If Achilles continues, the world will crumble at his feet. We have to fight him.” Shay released Moira from her brace on the wall. 

Moira placed the ring back on her hand, in its place beside her wedding ring. Shay crossed the room, taking a seat behind his desk. She followed, perching on the edge of the desk. 

“I destroy a city, murdered thousands, maybe millions of people for him,” His voice was low, tinged with regret, “And he already wants to find another site, and commit the same tragedy again. He wants these apples to control the colonies. No one man should have that sort of power.” Shay rested his head in his hands. “Achilles is expecting me. I’ll take the manuscript and come find you.”

“I’ll be waiting on the property line by the main road with the Grandmaster.” Shay lifted his head. 

“If I’m not there by first light, run. I’ll find a way to you.” Shay stood with Moira mirroring him. “Go now, before Achilles gets suspicious.” His hands found their way into her hair. “I’m never going this long without you again.” Shay planted a kiss on her lips. 

“I love you.” She whispered accepting another kiss. Shay responded by holding her closer, tighter, with an unspoken promise he’d never allow them to be separated again. 

The kiss broke and Moira hurried off the ship, hoping nobody saw her along the way. She made it to the tree line, scaled the nearest tree, and began making her way back to Haytham. The trees felt familiar under her boots, and Moira made decent time. Haytham handed her the Templar robes she’d discarded earlier. She took off the layer of white and replaced it with black. 

“He’s alive and willing to join us. Achilles is searching for the next precurser site already. He means to rule. Shay is retrieving the manuscript now, and will meet us here. I agreed to wait until morning.” Haytham agreed with her plans. “Now we wait.”

\-----  
Gunfire, she was certain she’d heard gunfire. Shay had been caught, and now the sound of gunfire blasted across the homestead. 

“We have to go find him!” Moria shouted to Haytham. Her horse was keyed up and ready to go, simply awaiting command from her. Moira gripped the reins tight. 

“We will do no such thing. Monro is waiting in the harbor with a ship full of men. Let them find him.” Haytham pulled lightly on his mare’s reins. “You are too important to the cause, and I cannot lose you.”

“Haytham-”

“That’s an order! We are returning to the estate immediately.”

She spurred her horse to action, bolting after Haytham. That much gunfire meant one thing. Shay had the manuscript and Achilles knew. Moira could see Monro’s ship making its way through the harbor, and hoped Shay made it to him in time. He was either leaving the homestead on a ship or in a pine box. Tears streaked down Moira’s face. The odds were tipped against him, and Shay was doomed.


	7. Sweet Surprise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I hope you’re all having a good time, and looking forward to classes resuming like I am! I just wanted to send a huge thank you to everyone who has been reading, commenting, and leaving kudos so far! I hope you all are enjoying my work still! I’d love to hear from everyone with their thoughts and opinions on the story so far, as well as whether or not you want Shay and Moira to have kid(s) again, even if it winds up being in the epilogue or late-game in the story. 
> 
> On a side note I have some good news! I got a promotion at work! I’m now managing the little cafe I work in! I’m nervous, but excited! Between that and taking 5 classes this semester, I may explode. Lol
> 
> Anyway, thanks! And here is your next chapter!
> 
> Also, the end of the chapter is a little NSFW.

He looked so peaceful, so serene, and nothing of the world-weary man he normally carried around. It had been over a year since she’d been privileged to share a bed with Shay, and longer still since she was granted the opportunity to watch and worry over him. Moira sat at his bedside with her hand perched on his chest feeling for his heart. Her other hand dabbed a cold, damp cloth over his flushed face. 

Haytham watched from the corner. He had selfishly hoped Shay wouldn’t return. Moira interrupted his every waking thought, and occasionally his dreams. She was beautiful, but it was her spirit which built the pit of emotions he couldn’t quite express. She was passionate without hesitation. She trained with vigor, she sewed with contemplation, and she threw herself into anything so fully. Moira contained a certain passion for living that had saved her life several times over. Once when he found her on the brink of death in the tavern. Second when she’d refused to fall to her own brain after losing her child. Third was watching Shay now. 

He couldn’t help but be jealous of the man laying broken under her fingertips. She monitored his every motion with such intensity. If Shay groaned, she adjusted his pillows until he stopped. If his hair fell over his eyes, she cleared it immediately, tucking the strands behind his ears. Even now, passed out and kissing death, Shay held her complete attention, and Haytham wasn’t sure exactly what he was supposed to do with the green monster clouding his vision. 

“What are his injuries?” Her timid voice broke his train of thought. Timid had never been a word Haytham would have considered in describing her before now, but it was the only one which came to mind now. 

“Several broken ribs, cracked collarbone, severe concussion, and a gunshot wound. Monro said he fell from easily sixty feet, so your husband got off lucky, ma’am. If his luck holds out, he will be better come spring.” The doctor had completed a handful of evaluations which found a new injury each time. He believed his work finished and finally allowed Moira to see Shay after days of diagnosis and surgery. 

“He makes his own luck, doctor.” She flashes a smile at the doctor. “Thank you for coming.” The doctor nodded his head and exited the room. Haytham had paid him well before even examining Shay so Moira wouldn’t have one more thing to worry about. 

Haytham made his way across the room, sitting just behind Moira on the edge of Shay’s bed. She hadn’t noticed the bed dip behind her until Haytham squeezed her shoulder lightly, then pinned one of her curls back into the bun atop her head. 

“So this is him, then? He’s a bit taller than I’d imagined.” Haytham commented quietly. Shay stirred in his sleep. Moira ran her fingers over his knuckles, reassuring him she was there. 

“He’s taller than most Irishmen.” She couldn’t help but laugh. “But, yes, this is Shay. He’s normally far more talkative, and always has a smile.” Moira cracked a sad smile. “After every mission he gets clingy. He won’t let me out of his sight for a few days at least. I suppose it’s my turn to cling to him.” 

“Watching him like this will do you little good. You’ll only worry yourself into an early grave. The Finnegans will take great care of him, Moira. Cassidy and Barry are good folks, loyal to our cause, and have agreed to nurse him back to health and ask nothing in return. Let them worry while we work.” Haytham’s voice was soft, reassuring, and laced with genuine concern. 

Moira stood from the bed, leaning over to plant a kiss on Shay’s forehead. 

“You’re right. I hate it when you’re right.” She mumbled to him behind her. Moira squeezed Shay’s hand one last time. “Where do you need me to go, Haytham?” 

“Let’s start at the estate. Charles wanted to speak with us.” 

\-----

Charles’ discussion was altogether pleasant. Moira hadn’t expected even niceties, but Charles offered his protection over Shay in return for her help, and extended an olive branch to her. Charles’ distrust of Moira was rooted in her relationship with Shay. He didn’t believe she could fully become a Templar while her husband still worked for the assassins. When Haytham informed him she left the Homestead at his command instead of waiting, Charles finally saw her dedication to the cause. Even more so when she awaited permission to find the Finnegan’s in the city to see Shay. 

His new disposition was rather nice, and Moira quite enjoyed speaking with him. The three of them discussed several things, the first being an appropriate course of action to disband the Brotherhood. Charles suggested ordering Monro to lay siege to the Homestead, cut off their resources, and force their hands. Moira reminded them Achilles had two ships which were fully operational and battle ready, which ruled out his suggestion. Haytham considered razing the homestead to the ground, which Moira quickly refuted. There were innocents living on the property serving as merchants, loggers, and artisans of all sorts, who didn’t deserve to perish with the assassins. Then came Moira’s suggestion, pick them off one by one, starting with their lowest-ranking members. Both men had liked Moira’s idea. It would send a message to Achilles to stop, or they would continue eliminating their ranks. 

The plan had been working well so far. Moira had successfully taken out three assassins, and was currently hunting her fourth. This wasn’t a simple case. Haytham had sent word that one of Achilles’ biggest investors was throwing a ball, and Moira was to attend, locate the investor, eliminate him and destroy anything in his vault. Fortunately, the ball was intended not only for assassins, but for the men financing the Royal Army, and Haytham happened to be one of those men. Moira was to attend as his guest, and attack while Haytham pulled everyone’s attention away from the vault. 

Moira hated dresses, loathed them with every fiber of her being. Wearing a dress meant also lacing corsets unbearably tight, not having her normal maneuverability, and generally did not allow for her to hide weapons easily. The gown she wore this night, however, had been designed with these things in mind by Haytham’s finest tailor. Moira would not be granted her hidden blades on this mission, they would contrast her gown too much. Instead she wore a dagger strapped to her calf, well hidden beneath the layers of crinoline. Haytham had ordered the fashioning of a necklace containing a small blade in the pendant. 

She felt quite beautiful. This was the finest dress she’d ever worn by far. It was a simple black and red brocade with a deep neckline revealing much of Moira’s pale skin once the cloak covering her frame was removed. Haytham dresses similarly, with hues of black and red adorning his stout body as well. His blades stayed on his forearms beneath his sleeves serving as protection should the plan not go as intended. 

Haytham offered Moira his arm. As his date, she would be expected to act accordingly. She would stay by his side, entertaining him and those he spoke with while she played the part of quiet wife. Her task was to observe everyone, locate her target, and gain access to his funds by whatever means necessary. 

“Your name, sir?” The doorman questioned as the pair strolled up to the door. 

“Kenway, Haytham and Moira.” He replied easily, gripping Moira’s arm tighter to him. 

“Welcome, Master Kenway, Mrs. Kenway.” The doorman crossed their names from the guestlist then waved them through. 

Moira quickly realized she was far out of her comfort zone once stepping inside the manor. Paintings adorned every wall, depicting images of former familial patriarchs and great kings of the world. Marble table tops lined the walkways with priceless artifacts and gold-leafed pottery from countries she’d never heard of before. The men and women surrounding her wore jewels more beautiful than the few she’d been privileged to see in her lifetime. She knew Haytham and the order had money, but she had no idea he was within the realms of these men. Moira had a sudden appreciation for his conservative sense of style. 

“Ahh, Haytham, old friend!” A man Moira had never met before bounced into their view, reaching a hand out to greet the Grandmaster. Haytham graciously accepted, returning a greeting. After him, two others approached giving the same salutations. 

Moira tuned out the men speaking of war. The colonies were heading towards war quickly, but she hoped another approach could be found. Her eyes raked over the room. Men and women spoke to one another of wealth, jewels, war, and politics., but nobody had stood out as the investor in question yet. 

“Isn’t that right, love?” Haytham’s voice interrupted her concentration. Love? She thought for a moment before remembering she was meant to be his bride. Moira didn’t know what he spoke of, but gave an affirmation and opted to pay more attention to his conversations lest she say something she’d regret. The stranger congratulated them and Moira faced Haytham.

“What did I just agree with?” She questioned hesitantly, eyeing him. Haytham cracked a smile and shook his head. 

“They were all asking when we would have children, since we have been married since Christmas.” His smile turned into a smirk. “We think we will be welcoming the next Kenway late this fall, but it’s still a little too soon to know for sure.”

Anger flashed over Moira’s features, and for a brief second Haytham believed she may blow their cover completely. As a newly married couple among the higher classes, it was expected for them to have children immediately so Haytham would have heirs should he perish in the upcoming war everyone spoke of so fondly. His answer satisfied the questions he had been peppered with while also leaving things open ended enough when the next generation of Kenway’s clearly wouldn’t happen. After Moira considered the time frame Haytham had suggested, she calmed substantially. 

“The next time we spar, I will break your jaw.” She threatened venomously. A chuckle escaped his lips, and Haytham threw his head back with laughter. 

“Threatening you Grandmaster? I’ll have to do something about that.” His threat held none of the contempt hers had. Instead he was laughing. 

“What can you do that I can’t, Haytham? Run away?” His laughter sounded again, this time gaining Moira’s own tones too. Moira took her place by his side once again, nodding curtly at the dignitaries speaking to them at every turn. 

Rumors had quickly spread about the newest Kenway, and the woman carrying them. The Haytham Kenway had married an Irishwoman who had come from no certain bloodlines, or was she the secret daughter of the king? Moira even heard one account claiming he had purchased her in an auction and decided to take her as a bride out of pity. Haytham’s official story was none of these things, and he made sure Moira was held to a higher standard among these untruths. 

Moira played the part of attentive wife well. Each stranger asked the same series of questions, which Haytham had the perfect story answering them all. They met on the ship coming from England to the colonies. Her parents had died, and she decided a change of scenery would be the best, and opted to become a governess after completing her formal training in England. They parted ways once off the ship, but had met again through her employer, and Haytham asked her to marry him then. They’d married on Christmas Eve, under starlight with a fire burning behind them among a handful of close friends. As for their child, Haytham refused to answer any questions, claiming he wanted to wait a while longer before his hopes were raised too high. The story satisfied all the questions thrown their way, but left Moira open enough to observe the crowd, still waiting to see a yellow flash among the throng of blue. 

Haytham and Moira pulled away from the crowd, finding a darkened room without others mingling. She took a seat on the bed, resting her feet for a moment while Haytham closed the door. After deeming the room secure, Haytham took a seat beside Moira.

“I’m thinking Edward for our son’s name.” Moira stuck her tongue out at the man responsible for making all of the rumors fly. Haytham rolled his eyes and playfully shoved Moira away. “Or Tessa for a girl.” 

“Have you seen him anywhere yet?” He wore a smile, but changed the subject quickly. Moira huffed. 

“No. Why would someone throw a ball, and not attend?” She rested her chin in the palm of her hands, watching the ground

“Because he has friends looking out for him.” 

Moira spun around on the bed, facing the closet across the room. Liam spoke up, opening the door and revealing himself to them. Moria reached for the dagger on her ankle, unsheathing it while Haytham stood and placed himself between the Assassin and her. Moira jumped to her feet, holding the dagger by the blade. If she could launch it between his eyes, Liam O’Brien would be one less Assassin for them to deal with later.   
“Moira.” Liam nodded towards her. “Long time, no see. I knew you’d turned on us, but married to him? Did Shay know that when he threw himself off a cliff for you? Did he even live?” Moira gripped the blade tight enough it had begun cutting into her hand. 

“Yes,” She answered, watching him move across the room. Haytham kept an arm in front of Moira, blocking her way to aim. “He is alive, no thanks to you.” She found a path for her dagger. 

“You still didn’t answer my questions.” Liam was now only feet away. Moira silently thanked Haytham for guarding her. Liam hadn’t seen the blade she gripped yet, and this would play in her favor. 

“About Haytham? We aren’t married, we aren’t anything other than colleagues.” Haytham must have realized Moira’s plan. Liam was within arms reach now. He hesitated, eyeing both Moira and Haytham. He wore a smirk that Moira wanted nothing more than to carve off his face. 

“You are clearly something. If you were nothing, he wouldn’t be protecting you, and you wouldn’t be watching me like that. Tell me, in those months without Shay, how did you really work your way through Templar ranks, Moira?” He chuckled, earning a glare from Haytham.

“I found her near death, took her in, showed her kindness, and welcomed her into our ranks.” Haytham countered, closing the gap between him and Liam. He pulled himself to his full height, standing inches above Liam, and backed him into the corner he’d started from. Moira couldn’t see Liam behind Haytham. “She’s proven her worth time and time again, and has become a valued member of our order.”

Moira made her way to Haytham’s side, watching Liam as she did. Haytham had the Assassin cornered, and Moira guessed Liam would quickly find himself at the end of the Templar’s hidden blade. 

“Hope!” Liam shouted above the din of the party outside. Moira spun around to find Hope standing in the doorway, dressed up similarly to herself, but not carrying any weapons. Knowing Haytham could handle Liam, Moira launched the blade into Hope’s side, retrieved it, and ran into the hall. 

The party-goers had silenced when Moira emerged from the room with blood staining her gown. Haytham appeared behind her, clicking his blades back into place. Moira’s vision focused revealing flashes of red dispersed throughout the manor that hadn’t been there before. Haytham grabbed her arm and sprinted across the hall. An open window gave them access to the lawn and to horses. With Liam and Hope bleeding out, they stole a pair of horses and put distance between them and the ball. Haytham headed towards the estate, and the pair raced away.

\---

The estate was empty for the first time since she’d become a Templar, and Moira fully intended on taking advantage of her circumstances. She laid back on her pillows, naked as the day she was born, and started by letting her hands wander. She needed a release after the failed mission a week ago, and wouldn’t receive it unless she took matters into her own hands. Moira started the same routine she’d used in the time without Shay. 

Her small hands found their way to her breasts, squeezing them lightly before tugging on her nipples. The cool, spring breeze fluttered into the room, dancing across the hardening buds, causing them to peak beneath her fingertips. She gripped each peak with her thumb and forefinger and began twisting. Wetness pooled between her legs, and Moira abandon one of her nipples to hesitantly touch the bundle of nerves begging for release.

“Well, hello there.” Moira’s eyes flicked open to the man standing by her door. 

She hadn’t expected him to come home today, and most certainly hadn’t expected him to waltz through the door with the biggest smile she’d seen him wear. And, based on her current situation, she clearly hadn’t planned on him coming home to her like this. Moira was leaning back against her pillows, one hand kneading her breast while the other fell between her legs. 

“This is quite a sight to see.” Shay chuckled, closing and locking the door behind him. Moira hadn’t bothered with the lock earlier, believing she would be alone until the next night. Haytham and the others had been called to Boston for some important meeting, leaving Moira to hold down the fort. Shay was clad in Templar robes much like her own discarded on the floor. He was well on his way to becoming one of them, but all Moira wanted to do was rip the robes from body.

“I am your wife, you don’t have to only see me, Shay.” She grinned at him, sitting up to meet her husband’s lips as he crashed onto the bed. 

“God, I’ve missed you.” He whispered while his hands quickly found their way on her bare body. Shay lowered her into the sheets, his lips finding their way down her neck and stopping only for him to nip at her skin, leaving red marks in his wake. “I dreamt of you every night. Of your smile, your lips, of us being together again.” Moira was laying down again. Shay stood and made quick work of his robes, tossing them to the floor much like her own. He crawled into bed with her, covering Moira’s body with his own. 

Shay bit down on Moira’s left nipple, taking the other between his thumb and forefinger to tug and pull the already hardened peaks just until they stung to be pinched. His tongue darted over her nipple making Moira squirm under Shay’s touch. She wanted him, she needed him, and she needed him now. 

Moira leaned up, pushing Shay back as she went. It was her turn to guide his back to the blankets. She hopped over his midsection, grinding slightly on his hardened cock.  
“I’ve missed you too. I’ve missed your hands raking over my body. Your mouth hot and wet on my nipples, but I’ve missed this,” Moira was slick enough she didn’t even need to bother with lining Shay’s cock up with her entrance, she lowered herself onto him, making Shay buck up involuntarily, “even more.”

Moira started bouncing up and down on Shay. He filled her far better than her own fingers ever could. Shay cussed under his breath, reaching up to massage her breasts, attacking her nipples with his rope-roughened fingers once again. She continued her pace, feeling her orgasm fast approaching, and based on Shay’s eyes scrunching together he was undoubtedly close behind. Shay thrusted up, catching Moira off guard, and sending her over the edge. Shay rolled Moira to her back, and took his turn in control. 

His hips worked quickly, pulling himself out, then slamming his cock back inside her. Moans escaped her lips, making Shay move harder. Pressure built within her, threatening to break again. 

“Oh, lass,” Shay purred, sending her over the edge with his name on her lips. Shay’s thrusts became uneven, erratic, and hard. Moira tightened around him, and Shay lost control. Thick bursts of cum emptied into her, and Shay collapsed, moaning her name. 

“Welcome home, Shay.”


	8. For the World We're Going to Make

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for how long it's taking me to update. It's been almost a month, and I feel awful about it. My new job is taking up so much more of my time than I thought it would, and now my college classes are really getting into full swing too. It's been absolutely wild. Hopefully the fluff here makes up for the time between chapters!
> 
> I was also watching The Greatest Showman while writing, and sort of wove one of the songs into the chapter towards the end. I'm hoping it doesn't come across too out of character, but the idea seemed perfect in the moment. I highly encourage you to listen to A Million Dreams from the soundtrack while reading!

The estate remained quiet the following morning. Moira had granted the serving staff the morning off as her fellow Templars wouldn’t be returning for several hours still. She found her way around the kitchen, familiarizing herself with the placement of baking goods, eggs, spices, and all manor of baking and cooking elements she could find while Shay slept in her room upstairs. 

Last night had been simply amazing. Moira had missed him more than she’d realized. She’d nearly forgotten his laugh, the flecks of green hiding away in his irises, and how his hands were perfectly calloused along the palms. She’d missed his laugh, and the lilt in his voice when he spoke her name. There wasn’t a piece of Shay she didn’t miss, inside or out. She wouldn’t be spending time without him anytime soon. 

Moira quickly lit a fire in the stove and set to dicing potatoes on an oak board. Potatoes, eggs, and a bit of sausage all fried together would make the perfect breakfast with a cup of tea to wash it all down. She placed a full kettle on the back burner then placed a heavy, iron skillet on the front burner, already laden with the morning’s libations. Moira bounced around the kitchen, humming under her breath as she searched for salt and pepper. 

“Now that’s a sight I’ve not seen in some time.” Shay’s voice interrupted her concentration, making Moira drop the canister of pepper to the floor. A soft thud sounded, followed by a cloud of grey exploding from her feet.

“See what you’ve made me do?” Moira teased, reaching for the broom and dustpan. “It’s clearly your fault.” Shay stooped down and help the dustpan in place as Moira formed a mound with the soiled pepper. 

“My fault?” She couldn’t help but smile down on her husband, perched on one knee with his own smile shining up at her. 

“Yes, your fault. Absolutely your fault.” She swept the last bits of pepper from the wooden floor. Shay stood and discarded the spice in the rubbish bin beside the table. 

“Aye, and how should I expect you to punish me for such a blunder?” 

“I’m sure I can think of something.” Moira still smiled, but this one bore a slight smirk. Shay wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her in to him. “I missed you so much, Shay.” She leaned into him, Shay holding nearly all of her weight as he trailed kisses down her neck. 

“Every night when I looked up to the stars, I thought of you and of our future.” Shay released Moira so she could tend to their breakfast as the skillet began heating and the sausage and potatoes needed turned. The eggs would be added last. “I dreamt of your smile every time I fell asleep in those sheets that felt too rough without you there. I love you, Moira.”

Moira stilled, no longer turning the frying meal being made on the stovetop. She knew exactly what he meant. 

“I love you too, Shay. The morning you left, things changed. Achilles changed, Hope changed, nothing was the same. I’d sit in the yard nearly every night, hoping you were looking up at the same stars I was, wondering where you were in the world you called home for the night.” She grabbed the spatula once more, shoving their breakfast across the cast iron. 

Shay plucked plates and mugs from the cabinet opposite Moira then placed them on the small, wooden table tucked away in the kitchen corner. She continued cooking in silence for a few moments while Shay’s vision wandered out the window. Moira knew that window well. She spent time among the women under Haytham’s employ in this kitchen often, and found herself gazing out the window to the training pin outside. This morning her mare waltzed around the pin, craning her neck to listen for deer in the next field. 

Moira placed a towel on the table to protect the wood, then placed the skillet atop the towel. Shay grabbed the kettle to fill their mugs to the brim with boiling hot water over the blend of black tea. He dropped a spoon of sugar into Moira’s mug and two into his own, then stirred the crystals into liquid. Moira doled out equal portions to both their plates, and the pair started their breakfast. 

The only sound heard in the kitchen was the scraping of their forks on porcelain accompanied by the occasional sip of tea. They certainly looked the part of the happily married couple, eating breakfast in the early morning light sitting side-by-side, sneaking quick glances at the other’s form when they thought they weren’t looking. All Moira had wanted for nearly two years now was to have this, to have her husband back, to share breakfast with him one more time, but the man across from her was far from her husband of old. 

She’d noticed the physical changes last night. His hair had greyed in places, his eyes wore dark circles and wrinkles she’d not been privileged to see form, but it was who he was at heart that she didn’t recognize at all. His gait gave away the weight Shay lugged around on his shoulders. Maybe he’d gotten hurt in Lisbon, or in the time he’d already been working for the Templars, but Moira suspected just waking each morning brough Shay dread. Where he used to be smiles in contemplation, she now saw not what could be described as a frown, but his lips were held tight against his teeth and she knew he’d developed a habit of chewing the inside of his lips to bleeding. He was a different man now, and she understood why. 

“This is odd, isn’t it?” Moira finally broke the silence, earning a grin from her husband.

“It’s entirely too calm for the likes of either of us, if that’s what you mean.” A soft chuckle fell from his lips, giving Moira a moment of laughter herself. 

“That, but here we are, husband and wife, and I have no idea who this stranger is across from me. Shay, you have to admit, both of us have went through life-changing events. I’m not the same woman you married, and I can tell you aren’t the same man by a long shot.” Moira took a sip of her tea. It was far too sweet. Along with the big changes in her life, there were loads of small ones, and tea just happened to be one of them. The rest of the Templars tended to take their tea and coffee both stout, strong, and bitter, and she’d adapted to their tastes. 

Shay watched over her for a moment.

“Well then, I believe we need to get reacquainted.” He flashed a grin before reaching out a hand for Moira to take. “How about you show me around this place, and we can talk along the way?”

Moira, taking his hand, quite liked that idea, and she knew the perfect place to start.

\-----

The estate Moira had called home for a time was imposing to Shay. He’d never stepped foot inside a home held to the esteem of the Grandmaster and the Templar Order. He quietly observed the library and the countless tomes of knowledge, fiction, and fact surrounding him. Moira quickly led Shay up a ladder to the small reading alcove overlooking the library where she’d stashed pillows, blankets, and a tin of candies. The only other person who’d seen what she’d done with the dead space had been Haytham when he’d interrupted her with tea shortly after she’d marked the space as her own. A small table sat in the center where she would lay out paperwork or maps for observation. 

Shay quite liked this space. It was quiet, allowed a decent vantage point to see into the lives of the other Templars, and provided privacy when needed. He stole a piece of Moira’s candy stash, opting for a peppermint while she bunched the blankets and pillows into a nest and shoved the table to the far wall. Moira laid down in the nest. Shay took the cue, and she pulled a leather-bound book from the table. Even if everything else had changed, Moira still loved to read, and Shay was already leaning back to hold her in his arms like they used to when she’d read to him. 

“Two households, both alike in dignity,” she began one of Shay’s favorite pieces of literature. Shay placed a kiss on Moira’s cheek, a simple ask to continue. “In fair Verona, where we lay our scene…”

\-----

“Moira.” A voice pried into the nap Moira had been thoroughly enjoying. She ignored the baritone and clutched Shay closer to her, listening for his heart beating strong beneath her ear.

“Moira.” This time the voice was accompanied by a soft shaking on her shoulder. Moira finally cracked an eye open and looked at the intruder. 

“Haytham?” She halfway questioned, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Moira took a glance at her husband still sleeping soundly and decided to focus her attention on the Englishman standing on the ladder in front of her. 

“Good, you’re awake. The rest of the Order is waiting in the dining hall. Monro asked to speak with us regarding Shay.” Moira was definitely awake now. Haytham helped her to her feet and Moira scurried down the ladder knowing Shay would come looking when he awoke to her gone. 

Haytham’s gait was tense, his shoulders were squared away, and he held himself with the Grandmaster demeanor he rarely wore around her. Moira couldn’t help but wonder what had him on edge, but brushed it away once they stepped into the hall. 

Lee was red-faced and annoyed as ever. Hickey, surprisingly, wasn’t drunk, but the glass bottle sitting on the table in front of him lead her to believe he would be shortly. Johnson was in his normal spot away from the others to watch them all. Monro waved towards Moira, motioning towards the seat between him and the head of the table where Haytham would occupy. 

“Moira! It’s been some time. How are you?” Monro asked with a smile on his face. Moira flashed a smile back. 

“Fairly well, but much better thanks to you. If you hadn’t helped Shay, he never would have made ait home. I’m indebted to you, General.” Monro patted Moira’s shoulder, leaving his hand to linger for a moment. 

“I would have done the same thing for any of the Order or their families, and I fully believe you would do the same. No thanks is necessary.” Monro began to speak again, but was quickly cut off by Haytham. 

His eyes were icy, steeled over as he addressed the order. Normally he spoke with some small token of kindness toward his inner circle, but the man was terse, demanding Monro speak immediately. 

Monro spoke of Shay’s sympathy for their cause so far, of his expert marksmanship, unparallelled fighting, and of his ire for the assassins. In the short time he’d been helping the Order so far, Shay had managed to retake Boston from the assassins, and had made strides in New York as well. He’d regained control of the Morrigan, giving them another battle-ready ship, and one small enough to traverse the River Valley with ease. He saved a man named Gist who Moira vaguely knew through Haytham, and had staffed the Morrigan with men all in agreement with the Templars. Monro spoke to Shay’s ambition to destroy the Brotherhood highly, and recommended that the Order gain one more member.   
After Monro’s testimonial, Shay passed the vote with flying colors. Moira was to bring Shay in for the ceremony while the other Templar’s gathered his ring, robes, and any other materials necessary. 

\-----

Why Haytham always waited until the dead of night for an induction ceremony, Moira would never understand. The last dregs of light kissed the horizon above them while Shay and Moira entered the stables, Moira lighting a lantern to illuminate their path as she bounced from stall to stall introducing Shay to the animals. Her mare was stabled in the far corner where she neighed at the sound of Moira’s voice. She made her way to the corner and handed her an apple. 

“It’s quiet out here.” Shay commented while Moira climbed into the loft and tossed hay down into her mare’s stall. Moira peered over the edge of the loft before dropping down to the floor once again. 

“The others rarely come to the stables, then they’re all preparing for the ceremony. Haytham always has them around midnight.” She dusted a few pieces of hay from her tunic. Shay whisked Moira into his arms. 

“I can think of a way to pass the time, especially if nobody will venture out.” Shay kissed her neck, leaving a small mark right above her collarbone. 

There were spare blankets stashed in the tack room. Moira pointed in the right direction and Shay carried her in. She quickly laid down one of the blanket, placing a layer between them and the dirt floor. Their clothes were quickly discarded as the pair curled up to one another atop the rough blanket.

These little moments, stolen away from everyone else were one of the things she’d missed most. At the homestead, they hid in the Morrigan for days at a time, doing nothing but simply being with one another between missions, talking of what their lives would hold for them in the future. Moira could almost laugh at how unknowing they were, and how narrow their views of the world had been. They’d planned their lives within the confines of the Brotherhood. 

Shay would have been a wonderful father, Moira thought, especially in moments like these. He was soft and tender with her, brushing her hair from her face and holding her close. She always thought that associating this side of him with children was odd since they were clearly laying together as man and wife, but she could imagine him holding a bundle of blankets and their love with the same tenderness and dexterity he held her. Shay’s fingers trailed across her torso, hesitating over midsection almost as if he could tell what she was thinking. He hadn’t seen the few stretch marks lining her skin under light until now, and Shay froze. 

Moira leaned up a bit to watch him. She’d had time to mourn their child, but she realized Shay really hadn’t yet. He traced each mark, proof of what they’d almost had. His grip on her flesh tightened, not in anger or even frustration, but anguish. Moira covered his hand with her own. His shoulders trembled then a pair of teardrops fell on her fingers. 

“They will pay for this. Hope, Liam, Achilles, all of them will pay for this. I will not let them even have the chance of hurting you or our family again.” Shay’s head dipped down to leave a kiss on her ivory skin, stopping only to leave another on the reminder she saw daily. "Between us and the Order, they won't have a leg left to stand on. I've dreamed a million dreams of how to shape this world, for the world we are going to make, for us."

He stayed like this for a few minutes, or maybe several, Moira wasn’t completely sure how much time had passed. His tears were quiet. His shoulders shook with every breath he took until his breathing started to level out. He needed this. He needed her, and she needed him. 

“Would you ever want this again?” She almost couldn’t hear him with his head resting on her stomach. Moira almost laughed. All she had wanted was Shay and their family together again. They were safer than ever among the Templars. With the assassins ranks being depleted quicker than they could replenish them, the assassin threat would soon be eliminated, and Moira and Shay could raise their children aboard the Morrigan traveling the world for Haytham and the Order. 

“It’s all I want, Shay.” She whispered in response, stroking his dark locks loose from the ribbon holding them. Shay slowly laid Moira down again, this time slinking over her with a new look in his eyes. 

Moira met Shay halfway, clinging on to him as he peppered her neck and shoulders with wet kisses. She searched momentarily for Shay’s weak spot, where his neck met his shoulders and bit down hard. He shivered over her and smirked. It was going to be one of those nights where neither of them would walk away disappointed or unsatisfied.


End file.
